


Arya and Jon: Wight Hunters

by seekingtomorrow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingtomorrow/pseuds/seekingtomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks are known for several things: great genetics, frighteningly chilly glares, and charismatic leadership. Oh yeah, and there’s the fact that they’re all wight hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arya and Jon: Wight Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot for now, but may become a multi-chap provided that I have enough motivation to write more and if people like it enough. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated!

If you’d seen them on the road, you wouldn’t think much of the rigidity wagon drawn by a solemn grey horse. You wouldn’t cast a glance at the hooded couple, downcast faces and hunched shoulders. You wouldn’t pay a second look at the cargo, suspicious heaps covered in a dirty tarp that was once white.

But you see that’s what makes Arya and Jon Stark so good at their job. In fact, it’s what makes all the Starks good at their job.

What is their job, you might ask?

Strictly speaking, it’s neither legal nor is it approved of by doting parents, but it does guarantee some hefty bragging rights.

You see, before any of your parents or even great-grandparents can remember, there existed a village so old that its name has been lost to everything but the whispering reeds that line the marshy banks of Greywater Watch. This village lay on the outskirts of a dark and wild forest. The forest was magical, the old women of the village used to say. In the forest lived wights and giants and horrible monsters that would snatch up your children and eat them alive, they would whisper. Do not go out after dark, they would warn their children.

Everyone took it as an old wives tale; it was just something that people said to prevent their children from acting up.

And so it was. That is, until the kidnappings began. It started with a little girl whose name, like the village, has been lost to the oral history. Then it was a little boy. Then it was a pair of siblings. Then it was a pair of siblings, two little girls, and a little boy. Their skeletal remains were often left out for everyone to see. Just when it couldn’t get any worse, winter came. Thick snowdrifts, howling blizzards and thick sheets of ice covered by deceptively soft snow only added to the power of the wights.

This went on for several years. Winter and wights went hand in hand.

Finally, one man decided that he had had enough. Brandon Stark, son of a farmer or perhaps a hunter or just a poor orphan boy, chose to take up arms against the wights. Discovering, quite by accident, that the wights could be killed like by beheading them or carving out their hearts, Bran set out to hunt the ones who had been plaguing his village. Once the deed was completed, he commissioned the building of the Wall, a monolithic barricade that stood between the village and the dark forest beyond.

Bran, not wanting his own children to be left defenceless against the wights, passed on his craft and technique of combating. This would go on for several generations and soon enough, the Stark family had gained a fearsome reputation as the people you went to for wight exterminations.

Arya and Jon Stark, descendants of Bran the Builder, were determined to carry on his good name.

That is where the story starts.

* * *

 

 “Is this the place?” One of the cloaked figures, this one was distinctively female, said to her companion. Despite her heavy cloak, she seemed to be somewhat petite.

“That’s what it said in the message,” said the other. This one was tall, but looked no less intimidating. His voice was gruff and world-weary, in spite of his years.

The figures stood in a small clearing, near a fallen tree, near a pond, near the Haunted Forest. Snow blanketed the land, heavy drifts weighing down tree branches and keeping the normally stagnant pond at a standstill. No animals could be found in this place, whether due to the cold or the eerie atmosphere that permeated every corner.

“I don’t like it here,” the girl said to the boy. Her hand was at her side, where a concealed sword hung. She moved into a low crouching position, as if ready to spring.

“Me neither.” The boy shifted the pack he was carrying. The head of an axe peeked out.

Suddenly, the crack of branches filled the silence. The boy reached behind him and pulled out the axe, holding it out before him. The girl unsheathed the hidden sword, readying herself for combat.

“Was that—?” The girl asked, trying to aim her weapon.

“Yes,” the boy affirmed.

Straining her ears, the girl could make out the faint sound of laboured breaths. “Can you hear them?”

The boy, not sharing her aptitude for the more…sensory aspect of hunting, shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it, though.”

Then, something crashed through the criss-crossed corpses of fallen trees. It was skeletal looking; its ribs showed clearly through its torso. Bright blue eyes—a shade of blue that no human possessed—regarded the hunters with the sort of expression one might stare at their food with. In its hand was a crudely made spear.

“A wight!” The boy exclaimed. Leaping forward, he swung his axe, only to miss the creature by centimetres.

The creature—now known to the audience as a wight—howled indignantly. Lifting its spear, it charged the boy.

Luckily, the boy was used to these sorts of frontal attacks. Swinging his axe back up, he managed to knock off the pointed end of the wight’s weapon.

“Arya!”

The girl, who had gone mostly unnoticed by the wight, had somehow slipped behind it. Banishing her sword, she moved to stab it through the chest. The wight, now aware of the threat she presented, tried to move out of the way, but the girl was too quick. As the black, obsidian blade slid into the chest cavity of the wight, it struggled to stab her in retaliation, but its spear was too blunted.

The wight slumped to the ground, not quite dead, but not strong enough to fight back.

“Jon.” The girl beckoned to her brother.

The brother, breathing heavily, shuffled over. Kicking the still slightly flailing wight into the correct position, he hefted his axe once more and brought it down on the creature’s bony neck. With a sickening crack, its head separated from its body. Dark blood, almost as black as the sibling’s weapons, seeped into the snow, dying it a deep red. The glassy blue eyes of the wight stared up at its executioners, expressionless.

“We should burn the body,” said the boy. He shook his axe free of blood, trudging off to find some firewood.

“Agreed,” replied the girl, re-sheathing her sword.

After they’d completed the grisly job, the two siblings walked to the dirt road outside the clearing, past the dark trees, where their wagon was. Clamouring back on, they rode the bumpy trail back to the village where they’d first received the request.

Later, later than the siblings had originally anticipated, they found themselves standing in the office of the man who had commissioned them to get rid of the wight that had been plaguing his small town. Without bothering to inquire who they really were, the man had hired them on the spot, his desperation outweighing his curiosity.

“You got rid of the wights?” The stooped man said to the siblings in surprise.

“Of course,” Jon said.

“B-b-b-but you’re so young!” The man said in surprise. “In fact, you’re no older than my own children.”

“We have been trained since we were very young,” Jon explained. “Surely you’ve heard of the Wild Wolf, the Silent Wolf, the She-Wolf, and the Pup?”

“The famous Starks?” The man asked. “But I thought they were no longer actively hunting!”

“The Silent Wolf is our father,” said Arya, “and the rest have contributed to our training.”

“So you are Starks, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Jon repeated, still smiling.

“And because we’re Starks, there’s the small matter of our fee…”

* * *

 

“That was an easy job!” Arya crowed happily, biting into the bread she’d purchased with their wight-hunting money.

“No job is ever easy,” Jon corrected, staring in his mug of ale. The tavern they’d chosen to occupy for the night was loud and noisy, drunkards singing at the bar, barmaids blushing at every remotely handsome man who’d walked in the door—Jon included, of course—and suspicious characters brooding in the corner.

“Don’t be such a pessimist, brother.” Arya’s expression was cheerful, but her grey eyes scanned the area. Even when she wasn’t working, she was always cautious. Aunt Lyanna had told her to never let her guard down, because wights weren’t the only enemy to be wary of.

“If I was an optimist, I would have never subjected myself to uncle Benjen’s training.”

“True, true. I wonder how our dear siblings are doing?”

Jon smiled at the mention of Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon. When he had decided to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and take up hunting as an occupation, Arya had been the only one to join him. Robb chose to stay and become mayor of Winterfell, like their father. Sansa’s skillset was more suited for politics and like Robb, had decided to stay. Bran’s weak legs prevented him from the excessive travel Jon had planned out. Rickon was too young, and had yet to complete the training that uncle Benjen and aunt Lyanna usually subjected all candidates to.

“I miss Sansa,” Arya said sadly. “And Robb and Bran and Rickon even though Rickon likes to steal my knives and replace them with spoons and Robb’s annoying and Sansa laughs at my sewing. I think I even miss Theon.” She was referring to their father’s ward, Theon Greyjoy.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Jon smiled.

“Me neither. But I miss playing pranks on Robb with Theon and I miss swordfights with Rickon. I miss exploring Winterfell with Bran. I even miss reading with Sansa.”

“If you want, you can still go home. I don’t mind travelling on my own.”

“No,” said Arya, shaking her head. “I can’t let you become the best wight hunter in the family without me around.”

Jon laughed.

“Anything I can get you two?” A bright-eyed barmaid asked the siblings, an overflowing pitcher of ale in her hands.

“A room for the night,” Jon said, not missing the way her eyes travelled over him.

“Two rooms then?” The barmaid asked coyly.

“Just one,” Arya said.

The barmaid looked Arya over, taking in her messy plait, grey doe-eyes, and mud splattered attire. She wasn’t pleased with what she saw.

“Just one room,” said Arya, “for me and my brother.”

The barmaid blinked surprisedly. “Oh. I’ll fetch you the key then.”

As she walked away, Arya turned to Jon who sat there, smiling smugly. “That’s the fifth time it’s happened. I swear, if one more person thinks we’re a couple, I’m going to bust some heads. And stop smiling like that. You look like Theon.”

“I can’t help it if girls think I’m attractive.”

“Oh, for the love of Weirwoods.”

* * *

 

The young man—quite good-looking, to be honest—spoke clearly in spite of the expression in his blue eyes; they were flickering from left to right, as if expecting a wight to jump out of the walls and devour him. “Please, you must help our town. The people are becoming desperate.”

“What did you say your name was?” Jon asked him. As always, his axe was strapped across his back, concealed with some cleverly placed cloth.

“Gendry,” the man said. “My name is Gendry Waters.” As he said his name, he smiled shyly at Arya who blinked slowly in response.

“And you do realize our services aren’t exactly cheap, do you Gendry?” Jon inclined his head slightly, looking down at the pouch of coins that sat innocently on the grainy wood table between them.

“In fact, you could consider us to be one of more expensive teams around,” Arya added. She had been silent up until now, letting Jon do all the talking.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gendry said forcefully. “There has been a wight terrorizing the town and many children have gone missing.”

“Extra charge for rescue missions on top of wight killing.” Jon said.

“Extra, extra charge for any hostages still alive,” added Arya.

Gendry looked back and forth at the two siblings garbed in black leather and fur. “How can you be so greedy?”

Arya smiled sardonically. “We all have to make a living. Ours just happens to be risking our lives to hunt down creatures that plague innocent villagers, such as yourself.” Her smile verged on flirtatious.

If it weren’t for the fearsome look on Jon’s face, Gendry would probably have responded in kind. As it stood, Jon already found himself disliking the boy, more so out of brotherly concern than anything else.

“We’re not greedy,” said Jon far more diplomatically than Arya, his eyes fixed on Gendry’s. “We’re just realistic. Dragonglass is expensive, as is our style of living. We can’t exactly stay at inns for free.”

Gendry sighed. “Fine. And you’ll set off tonight to hunt for the wight?”

Jon laughed in spite of the grim subject. “Not tonight. Wights are strong in the darkness and we will get killed easily. No, we’ll start our hunt tomorrow morning.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” said Jon, his voice now serious. “Any hunter worth his salt will not venture into the woods past nightfall. Nobody would dare seek out a wight in its element. We will set out tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” Gendry said, nodding in agreement, though his hands shook slightly. “Is there anything I could provide you with that may be of use to you, then?”

“A room at the finest inn in town and perhaps a place to bathe,” said Arya. “I still stink of blood.”

“That can be arranged. Perhaps you would prefer to stay at my house rather than an inn? It’ll be cheaper.”

“An inn is fine,” said Jon sharply.

“Are you sure?” Gendry said, his voice sounding marginally more disappointed than it had been a moment ago.

“Jon?” Arya looked up at her brother.

“Yes, we are sure,” said Jon. “We’re nomads. We’re used to inns.”

“If you say so.”

“As agreed, you pay half up front and when the wight is dead, you pay the rest.” Jon continued, his liking of Gendry decreasing steadily as he and Arya continued to exchange looks.

“Don’t you mean, if you manage to kill the wight?” Gendry snapped out the his reverie.

“No, I mean when,” said Jon. “With us, there’s no ‘if’.”


End file.
